To the bowing Sanson, Patrick spoke in a cold voice.
"If you understand, go and tell the other soldiers. Tell them to stop grumbling and steel their hearts."
"Did you know?"
"What, that you were pushed forward as the representative to try and stop me? You think I wouldn't have known that?"
"..."
"It's obvious. Go and manage the men properly."
"Yes, I understand, young master."
And before withdrawing, Sanson spoke to Patrick.
"Young master. I'd like to ask one last thing."
"What is it now?"
To Patrick, who was clearly annoyed, Sanson spoke seriously.
"Can we win?"
"Of course."
"We'll be fine. But you, young master, the heir to the fief, must return safely. Truly..."
"Ah, I said we'll win, so we'll win. Whether it's a King Ogre or whatever, I'll beat it. Got it?"
At Patrick's blunt assurance, Sanson bowed deeply and said.
"I will prepare the soldiers as you command."
"Good work."
And Patrick, watching Sanson withdraw, let out a smirk. Who did these greenhorns dare to worry about?
"Is it true?"
"Are we really, really doing this?"
"Captain. This is madness."
The soldiers gathered before Sanson spoke in unison. These were the ones who had asked Sanson to persuade Patrick. But the Sanson who returned had instead been persuaded by Patrick and was now insisting they had to fight the King Ogre.
For them, it was a situation that could drive one mad. But Sanson's attitude was resolute.
"There is nothing wrong with the young master's words. Aren't we soldiers who fight to protect the fief in the first place?"
"But this time, the opponent is too powerful. It's a King Ogre."
"So what if the opponent is powerful?"
"... Brother."
"Are you going to run?"
"..."
"Are you going to abandon the people of the fief we're supposed to protect and run away just to save your own skin?"
No one answered Sanson's words. And Sanson roared in anger.
"You pathetic bastards!"
"..."
"How long are you going to keep grumbling?"
"No, brother, we..."
"We are already in the same boat as the young master. But are you going to doubt, grumble, and show only anxiety every time the young master does something?"
"..."
"It's not about the young master protecting us. We are the ones who must support him from behind and fight together. And isn't it natural to risk our lives for that? Did you not even know that?"
"..."
"Bastards who aren't even prepared to risk their lives want to become knights? Get lost right now! I don't need subordinates like you!"
At Sanson's words, the other soldiers' expressions crumpled wretchedly. Sanson had a large build and was naturally strong, but he had never used his strength to oppress those around him. Rather, he was the tolerant type of person who listened well to others.
So, for Sanson to be this angry was both surprising and shameful for the soldiers. When they thought, 'How bad must we have been for Sanson to get this angry at us?', they couldn't help but feel ashamed. And Sanson calmed his ragged breath for a moment, looked at the soldiers, and spoke.
"As you all know... we were originally guys who could die at any moment without it being strange."
That was true. These were soldiers who had to risk their lives fighting even if just one or two Trolls appeared, let alone a King Ogre. The reality for a soldier of the Schneider Fief was that if ten men enlisted, five of them would be dead within a year.
But in recent months, not a single one of those soldiers had died. It all happened after Patrick began to take the lead. Sanson spoke resolutely to his men.
"The young master is someone who will do great things. He might even leave his name in history. The process of following such a person will never be smooth. Therefore..."
"..."
Sanson, who had paused for a moment, looked around and said.
"Decide here. Either follow the young master without ever doubting him again. Or..."
Sanson pointed a finger into the distance and said.
"Go. I don't want to be with people like that."
At Sanson's words, Oliver was the first to step forward and speak.
"What should we do first?"
"King Ogre or whatever, let's do it."
"When you think about it, whether you die to a Goblin or a King Ogre, you're still dead, right?"
"Tsk, even if we die, we should die with some style. Don't you think?"
"That's right. Dammit, now that I think about it, since when did we ever live safely to act like this?"
"Right. I almost died just last year and barely survived."
"Ah, you got chomped by a Troll once."
"Dammit, more than the pain, I'll never forget that smell for the rest of my life. What the hell do those bastards eat?"
There were no longer any frightened and cowed soldiers in this place. In the first place, the soldiers of the Schneider Fief were strong soldiers. They had been momentarily frightened by the fact that there had been relatively few casualties in recent months and by the overwhelming presence of the King Ogre.
But originally, fighting with their lives on the line was a familiar affair for them. Those who had steeled their resolve were no longer cowards. ...
It was a being that could not be described with a simple word like dangerous. Gigantic, writhing muscles. Skin like a red-hot chunk of iron.
From its red eyes, larger than a human head, overflowed a malevolence that surpassed mere killing intent.
Crunch. Crack.
It was merely walking, but with that alone, even ancient trees hundreds of years old snapped like reeds before this being. And along the path created by that overwhelming being, dozens of its subordinates were following. The King Ogre.
A monster classified as a great disaster capable of threatening the very existence of a nation was present in this place now. The King Ogre knew what it existed for. He was a king.
A king is one who reigns. It was a being whose desire to conquer more land and lead a larger horde had seeped into the realm of instinct. That was why the King Ogre created a horde that followed it.
It subjugated them with strength, one by one, and in that way increased its numbers. Now, its strength and presence had grown to the point where it could make other Ogres submit just by existing, without needing to fight each one. Ogres, called a superior species even among large-type monsters.
And a horde of over 50 such Ogres had been formed. A truly overwhelming force. There were no longer any enemies in this vicinity that could threaten the King Ogre and its horde.
But it was still not enough. It wanted more subordinates and more territory. But there was an enemy that stood against it.
A warrior race, smaller than Ogres but possessing a tough fighting spirit. The territory of the Red Rock Orc tribe had begun to overlap with the King Ogre's. "Groooowl...." It was not a being that would avoid battle.
Rather, battle was exactly what the King Ogre desired. To trample the enemy with strength, chew their flesh and bones for sustenance, and conquer their home to make it its own territory. A wider territory and more prey.
In the end, that would create more subordinates. Finally, the settlement of the target, the Red Rock Tribe, came into the King Ogre's sight. The settlement, made of tents of leather and wood, lacked even the common wooden palisades, unlike a human village.
Kwoooar... Kuaaar!
The King Ogre pointed a finger at the Orc tribe's settlement and commanded its subordinates.
Go. Trample them.
They are the banquet I have permitted you. The moment the king's permission was granted, a vicious aura began to pour out from the bodies of the Ogres who had been silently following behind.
Grrrowl. Kwoooaaar Kahaaang!
In the first place, Ogres were monsters with such ferocious tempers that they were forced to live solitary lives. The moment their instincts, which had been suppressed by the King Ogre, were unleashed, they were no different from bloodthirsty beasts. Fifty Ogres, liberated to their instincts for destruction and slaughter, charged toward the Red Rock Tribe.
"Warriors of the tribe! Take up your weapons!"
At Turanta's command, all the Orcs took weapons made of stone in their hands. And at their head, Turanta raised his own weapon and shouted from the very front.
"Fight without retreat! We are the warrior race of Orcs!"
"Uooooooh!"
"Let's gooo!"
Hundreds of Orc warriors, including Turanta, charged bravely toward the Ogres. Normally, skilled Orc warriors would hunt even Ogres by forming groups. But that was only when there was a single Ogre.
Kwoooaaar! Kraaaang!
The Ogres, charging in a group of dozens, were a great threat even to the hundreds of Orc warriors. Nevertheless, no Orc retreated, and finally, the two hordes clashed.
Thwack! Crash! Crack!
As sounds of shattering and breaking were heard, blood splattered and flesh was torn from both sides.
"Uaaaaaaahp!"
The stone blade wielded by Turanta, the chieftain of the Orc tribe and the strongest warrior of the Red Rock Tribe, struck the Ogre before him squarely. The Ogre struck by his stone blade collapsed backward with its chest caved in, but even that was not a fatal blow.
Kwoooar!
The Ogre shrieked irritably and charged at Turanta again. Turanta bravely swung his stone blade to face the Ogre, and the Ogre's fist and Turanta's stone blade clashed fiercely.
CRASH! KWAANG! BANG!
Turanta, wielding a giant stone blade reminiscent of a pillar, was certainly strong. To the point where he was not pushed back by the Ogre, but was rather superior. But that was a story only for Turanta.
Kaaaang!
"Tantaaaa!"
"You baastaaard!"
Elsewhere, Orcs were ganging up to attack the Ogres, but the overall situation was not good. Normally, when Orcs hunt an Ogre, they surround it, strike it from its blind spots, and gradually weaken it. But that was impossible now.
In this situation, where dozens of Ogres were swarming in a chaotic melee, how could they possibly surround them? In the end, they had no choice but to charge bravely from the front, but not all Orcs possessed the skill of Turanta.
"Kaaaack!"
"Keoheok..."
Screams of Orcs could be heard from all over. Orcs being crushed by the Ogres' fists, grabbed and slammed to the ground, shattering and breaking. The Ogres would put the corpses of the broken Orcs in their mouths on the spot, chewing them as a meal while looking for their next prey.
"Uwoooar! Unforgivable!"
"Kill theeeem!"
Further roused by the deaths of their comrades, the Orcs charged bravely toward the Ogres. But the tide of battle was still not good, and they were gradually being pushed back.
Before long, the number of Orcs had dwindled by dozens, and even the bravely fighting chieftain of the Orc tribe, Turanta, was surrounded by three Ogres and engaged in a difficult battle.
"Chieftain!"
The young Orc warrior Tutan saw Turanta's crisis and charged bravely to intervene. But Tutan was still too young to face an Ogre.
"Kwoooaaar!"
The Ogre swung its fist at the charging Tutan, and Tutan tried to block it with his stone blade, but...
KWAAANG!
"Kkeuaaak!"
In the single clash, both of Tutan's arms were broken.
"Keeeeuh...."
But he did not let go of the stone blade in his hands until the very end. And he forced his broken arms to move, trying to attack the Ogre again.
"Uwooooooar!"
But no matter how great one's fighting spirit, there is a limit to how much the physical body can respond to it. His broken arms could no longer lift the weapon, and the Ogre's heavy fist flew toward such a Tutan. In that desperate moment...
"Ah, seriously!"
Something flashed past Tutan's cheek. Immediately followed by a flash of light and a tremendous roar like a boulder shattering...
KWAAANG! Keu... krrrrr...
And Tutan saw. The Ogre, with a large hole pierced through its torso, coughing up blood as it collapsed to its knees. And in front of it stood Patrick, the one Tutan had decided to serve as his brother, with a frown on his face.